


White Wine

by hectorpriamides



Series: tenedon fallacies [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Romance, Word Building Information on Request, based off my RP characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:23:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectorpriamides/pseuds/hectorpriamides
Summary: a courtship between princess and captain, following the war of 650





	1. Chapter 1

The morning of the ball, Lucretia sul Aulen got cold feet. She woke that morning, cleansed her face in the basin—stringy brown hair, simple brown eyes with sagging bags beneath them, pale skin enhanced with extra pallor; the war was only a few weeks gone—and felt her stomach drop. What was she doing in Nucree? Why hadn’t she gone home like her father asked? As summer bled into the city, she was losing time.

Lucretia scrubbed her face, compartmentalizing her actions.

Nucree: the King Leopold and his High General Kaeso requested her to stay as a dignified guest. At twenty-five, she had established herself enough to warrant special attention from King and General. A Captain for two years, and quickly rose amongst the ranks the previous five. But, if anything, it would have to be for the incident with _him_ —the sun, the taste of sand and salted fish, the palpable blood in the air. Her javelin sailed free of her hand, and the opposing general collapsed; a lucky shot lodged in his neck.

Home: Lady Aulen or not, she couldn’t ignore a summons. She was on perpetually trepid ground. Her father certainly hadn’t forgotten over the years what she had done, and once word spread that the war was over, she was expecting him to call her home. Who to answer to: king or father?

Loyalties were difficult.

Driven by habit, she made her bed next, which far exceeded the cot and bedrolls that put kinks in her back. The richly dyed and embrodied blanket did not compare to home, but after the tents she had been living in, she wasn’t one to complain. Nucree, Tenedo’s shining capital, had seen nothing of war save for a naval battle, and it’s opulence survived. The wealth did not shock her, hailing from one of Tenedo’s most affluent families, but her family manor was not decorated in deep dyes and gold plating.

But the king had much to prove to the nobility, routinely ignoring the Court’s decisions.

With few things to do, she sat behind a desk that wasn’t hers, bare skin against the lavish fabric; her Lieutentant General had leant her some sleepwear from her castle apartment. She towered over the Lt. General, however, and the gown left little to the imagination. Her uniform, singular in it’s existence, was being laundered, and she was to be fitted for a parade uniform for tonight’s event. Eight years of service.

_Eight years_. The number was obscene to her. Away from home for nine, some time in the Fens, and years in a seemingly pointless war with multitudes of battles that meant nothing. Her most grievous injury was received outside of the war, brought on by an accident at the military academy.

She looked down. Her fingers brush the rough skin of her left hand, the junction of her thumb wrought with deeply ruined skin. Her thumb never healed correctly, gripped by spasms. Was it frustrating? Yes. Learning to use her right hand in the field was annoying. Her saber was unaccustomed to the standard grip; the leather took two years to rewarp.

Lucretia had received explicit orders (‘suggestions’) to not leave her quarters. She dressed in a robe against the biting morning air; at her base level, Lucretia was the daughter of a wealthy noble, and formerly accustomed to the simple pleasures of life. The cotton of the robe reminded her of a simpler time, when the biggest problems were embargos and her rowdy cousins.

Back at the desk, she started to pen a letter to her father. What was it? A month ride back to Nucree when the peace was officially declared, and now a week stayed in. It would have taken a month and a half from Nucree to go home, so her abscence would not be missed yet, but she needed to explain.

_To my Lord Aulen;:_

_I hope you have been well, Father. The war has come to an end. The King Leopold has requested that I stay, and so I am; I cannot refuse the king’s orders. If not for the paper shortage, my dear father, I would explain the past nine years to you, but know this, my lord:_

_I have loved and missed you each day. I ache for Matthias, and do tell his mother, my dear old nurse that I am thinking of her. I am to be engaged to one of the King’s daughters as a reward for what I have done. Father, I have slain Trebia’s Orbecker._

_Your Loving Daughter:_

_Lady Lucretia sul Aulen, Captain of the Fifth_

* * *

Sitting on the dias of the expansive hallwere the King and his well-dressed, well fed brood. Most of them were young, though recalling their exact ages was nearly impossible for Lucretia. The boys were still that, just boys; the oldest couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and he the heir apparent. Then came the King’s abundance of daughters, three seated, varying degrees of age and appearance. Left empty were the fifth (first in line) throne for the recently parted eldest princess and the queen’s chair. (The rumor came that the queen was too distraught with hysteria to return.)

Lieutenant General Sabucia ran her through names. Her attention kept drifting however; antsy indoors, a noble disgrace, and her gaze kept finding nobles she knew, familiar names falling from plump lips (only officers, her squad mates home with their families). The Lt. General continued to brush her up on city-politics, even if she herself was distant from them. Then something moved out of the corner of her vision, another girl led up on the dias by a guard. She curtsied in her wheat colored gown, a peak of skin between her dress and shoe, a fair ankle marked by a freckle.

Lucretia let her eyes travel upwards. Her legs disappear into the poof of her gown, layer upon layer of cloth to form an almost perfect bell. A svelte body easily contained by her corset. Honey brown locks fell in ringlets past her shoulders, stopping shy of her breasts and dipping neckline. A small tiara was perched upon her skull, matching the gems of her bodice. Lucretia swallowed. High cheekbones, a button of a nose, and a thin line to pass as lips. Whoever she was, an apparent royal, her eyes a startling emerald green set to her white skin. She hid a delicate laugh behind a gloved hand, and Lucretia felt the unfortunate feeling brewing in her chest.

The musicians continued to play. “Lucretia,” Sabucia snapped. “Pay attention.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” she corrected. She began to turn back to the matronly lieutenant, but she heard a squeal, unbefitting of this crowd.

“ _Kaeso_!” The current fixation of her attention rushed down amongst the crowd. The guards attempted to bar her, but her wily frame ducked between them. In one hand she held her skirts up, and her second hooked itself around the High General’s neck with blatant familiarity. The general’s weathered hand found a home on the small of her back, spanning the space in whole. He held his wine glass off to the side, and the High General, in an odd moment of affection, pressed his lips to the lady’s forehead. The worry lines framing his face softened, relaxed by her embrace.

Lucretia watched the scene unfold, blurting out, “General Kaeso has a daughter?” It would make sense that his daughter would sit with the royals. The lady couldn’t be the late princess’s child, though. Too old.

Sabucia followed her gaze. Cryptically she replied, “No, but she may as well be his.” She snapped her fingers, breaking Lucretia out of her stupor. “That’s the King’s half daughter, the Princess Elena. She would be the one the King is most willing to give to you, but you would face the High General’s opposition more than anything.” El-e-nah, not E-lay-nah. She stored it away.

Out of her options, the Princess Elena captivated her the most. The expectation was that she courted and chose one by the end of summer. Why not the Princess Elena? “Do you know her well enough to give me my chances with her?” she asked, almost a murmur, eyes locked back on the High General and his enamored lady.

The Lt. General gave pause, head cocked. “She’s always been soft on the military types,” was all she gave away. Her fingers smoothed Lucretia’s collar. “I would go for her, personally. Princess Cominia isn’t the marrying type, and Princess Veturia would rather die than marry another woman.”

* * *

 

Lucretia kept her eyes to herself. Openly leering at Princess Elena, who was hitched on the High General’s arm, would only end poorly. The General kept his own protective hand on her, keeping her close amongst the throng of officers and nobility. She flourished under the pressure.

“You’re hopeless,” Lord Proclus sul Ansellum tutted. She glared at the much older man over the rim of her glass. Having known him for six years, formerly her commander, she knew where and when she could push the boundaries. Lord Aulen would be disappointed, but her precious father wasn’t here. His lady-wife, Nipia sul Ansellum, hung on his arm, the same he drank from, as it was his only.

She kept her brimming words to herself. A royal ball was not the place to lash him with her tongue. “I must pick, Lord Ansellum. She is a fair girl.”

Nipia laughed behind her hand, white glove contrasted against olive skin. “Proclus told me of your preferences. You are welcomed at the Ansellum manor, if you need lodging. We’ve less children than your lord-uncle.” She was a fair flower against the finely aging Ansellum. They were a lovely couple, meant for each other. Her laughs swelled with the music, and the adoration in his eyes followed suit.

Lucretia offered a partial bow, off kilter as Lady Nipia attached herself to her arm. “My lord-husband and I would like to give you a proper welcome home as well,” she said, and while Lucretia was young, she recongized the look in the lady’s eyes.

Swallowing: “Control your wife, Proclus.” He laughed loudly, ringing through the hall, yet dim compared to the music.

“You are uptight, Lady Aulen. Relax. Nipia, my dear, take her dancing.” Normally, she was not this passive, yet Nipia stole her cup away, and Lord Ansellum managed to hold the three of them, meandaring back to his round table. Lipia dragged her in the opposite direction; Lucretia tried to recall Ansellum’s stories during the war to pinpoint her age: Ansellum was comfortably in his fifties, and Nipia could not be older than forty. Ten years Lucretia’s senior? It sounded appropriate.

Amongst the throng, the Lady Nipia arranged Lucretia’s hands on her body, palm on her hip, fingers splayed over the curve of her ribs, hands clasped, and the lady’s gloved hand resting softly on her shoulder. “Do you know how to dance, soldier?” she asked; her fingers tug at a tendril of hair.

It wasn’t military fashion, but the last few months were a slippery slope. “I do, Lady Nipia, but it has been a few years.” Waiting for the next swell of music, they joined the fray, easily picking up with the fox trot set by the musicians. Despite the fairly attractive woman in front of her (nights in front of the fire told led to lord and lady discovering their similar tastes)---attractive in the way ladies were meant to be: dark hair in waves just passed her shoulders, dark eyes calculating yet warm, teeth white and skin fair---Lucretia found herself searching out the Lady Elena.

Lady Elena sul Flatan, Tenedo’s Fifth Princess.

She held the same beauty expected of a lady, never a day of toil showing on her skin, yet she was slimmer, and softness shone in her eyes, unlike any other. Sympathy was rare in Tenedo. Native born yet foreign, an enigma in and of herself. Without looking at the other princesses (princes off limit), Lucretia knew she was throughouly smittened.

Fingers pulling on her hair brought her back to the present. “Yes, Lady Nipia?” she asked.

“Proclus was right. You are hopeless.”

“He spoke of me?”

Right, left, back, forth, heels clacking against the floor. “Not in so many words. After he returned from the Fens, hopelessly full of poppy, he spoke of his time in the war. He remembered each and everyone of your names. He kept I and our daughters up for nights.” Stringed instruments had always bothered Lucretia’s ears.

“I hope he did not besmirch my name.” A smile pulled at her lips. “He spoke of you as well, glowing praise, I assure.”

The music adjusted; she dipped the lady in sequence with the rest. “The hopeless officer is my type,” she mused. Nipia glanced heavily at her through her lashes, but she could not hold the look, laugh bubbling past her soft pink lips. “I will admit that you do not match his descriptions, but Proclus has never been wise with words. You are feminine, despite his claims.” It was Lucretia’s turn to laugh, used to the description.

Now at a faster pace, the fox turned to a box, swirling of skirts swishing past one another in a flurry of colors. Officers and lords wore their best suits. “Well, thank you. There is a woman beneath this uniform.” Lucretia could be lured by the lady’s perfume, telling of its Trebian origins. She was a gentle woman, and Ansellum a kind man. Another dip, faces close as their warm breath brushed over one another. “I will take the offer of boarding with you, if it was true.”

“I am always true. You may send your belongings, and we will acquire whatever you need.” Lucretia did not own much at twenty-five. Nine years of her adult life had been dedicated to the military. “Proclus will also ask if, for your time in Nucree, we could act as your guardians, in lieu of your lord-father. He will ask you before Lord Aulen, though.” Her guardian? She was at that age still, only a lordling, heir to the Aulen riches and title.

Lucretia did not give an answer for the time. They continued to dance, and conversation devolved into more harmless flirting. She remembered her rearing as a lady and lordling, keeping the Lady Ansellum entertained. Her own eyes did linger on the princess despite her early misgivings. How could she turn away? The High General caught her, once, and while Lucretia kept the shame off her face, it filled her heart like sand.

Lady Elena stopped her between dances. She grabbed her elbow, that delicate sensibility city women possess. "Will you come with me, Captain?" she asked. The flat-footed woman stood on her tiptoes, barely reaching her jaw. Her lips touch the skin in far too open of a motion. “They expect you to make moves, you know.”

King Leopold did stress the importance of making a selection tonight, the sooner the better. She’ll have a long winter before her, he promised, lauded as the famed captain, ending the war in a fell swoop of her spear. Life would be easier with a royally anointed spouse: warmer bed, someone to make appearances with, and ample legitimacy in claims.

Lucretia wasn’t stupid. She knew it would forcibly tie the unruly Aulen family, predating this line of kings, to the throne. Turning down the king’s offer of a daughter would be seen as rude, though. This she knew too.

“...if you’ll excuse me, Lady Ansellum.” She was raised as a lady, but she remembered the actions of her father, brushing her lips over the lady’s knuckles. Her dark eyes lit in the same way her husband’s did before a charge, and the gleam comforted her.

Lady Elena did not waste time, hand tucked in the crook of her elbow in the submissive manner ladies were expected of. This was not the first time Lucretia found herself in the dominant position, but she was led through the crowd with ease. Guards stood on the entrance to the balcony, but they did not bar them. Captain Lucretia had a building feeling in her stomach that it had more to do with Lady Elena’s relation to the High General than her title.

There was a chill to the air, common for Tenedon summers. Lady Elena did not drift the same way other ladies did, hearing her footsteps as she crossed the distance to the railing, leaning back against it. Her head cocked, hair spilling free of the tiara and pooling on her shoulders. Lucretia recognized the vulnerability. “You are not subtle, Captain Lucretia, Lady Aulen, whatever you are going by.”

The duality of titles hurt her head at times. “Captain, if you would.” She made herself without the family name in the army, and she would continue to honor herself, not the name. “I beg for your forgiveness; it has been years since something so soft has crossed my eye.”

Her eyes also caught the flush surfacing. “Tonight would be a culture shock, I am sure.” Lady Elena, up close, only resembled the king in her nose. “I will not be led; my king-father has already explained to me the proceedings. Would you like to court me?”

“I would.” Lucretia slipped her hands into the pockets on her uniform, looking down at the princess. Was that considered rude? She did not have a choice.  Height was an Aulen trait.

The sun had set deeply some time ago. The sky was a dark indigo, full, white moon hanging low in amongst golden stars. Their light was not as bright as in the fields and desert.  Regardless of their intensity, the celestial bodies tinkled their radiance and caused the gems of the Lady Elena’s tiara to sparkle spectacularly; a smile, nowhere near the vibrancy shown to the High General, cracked across her young face, untouched by war. “ I’ll inform my father, then.” She pushed up from the railing, closing the distance between them. “How old are you, Captain Lucretia?”

“I’ve just passed my twenty-fifth summer.”

Lady Elena fingered a ribbon on her chest; everything in this place was meant to contrast royalty, from the medal on Lucretia’s chest to the swirls in the granite. Regardless, she was entranced. “You are seven years my senior.” As was the Tenedon way.

Lucretia learned early the importance of a straight face, eyes betraying nothing. War was not empty of contact, but this was a different extreme. Gentle. Soft. Intimacy she left at the Fens. “Have you been courted before, Lady Elena?” she asked. Was she to be as bold as the princess? Lucretia had scarcely been in the capital and struggled to recall proper noble decorum.

Music pushed through the doors to the balcony. Prabatal’s Third Symphony; what was the story? A detailing of life along the Sandian River. It was a favorite, played in festivals, uniting Tenedo ns regardless of class.  The Second was her preferred; some noble commissioned it decades ago, and her father had it played years ago on her mother’s last birthday.

Her lips, pink and gentle,  parted. Words  breezed beneath her breath that she recognized as a creed. “ I have not. I am young. I hope you do not mind leading.”  Thoughts obviously fractured, Lucretia took the opportunity to  freely indulge in the princess’ fine breeding. Comforted in that she was no way related to the royal family (even the princess’ non-queen mother), she appreciated the way Lady Elena’s waves of hair all descended from  a single swirl that parted her hair. Untouched by war. Too young to be courted, too young to enlist.

“I had assumed as much.”

“You know what they say about assuming.”

Lucretia cracked a small smile. “And who is  _they_ ?”

Lady Elena brushed a hand across her shoulder, a stray hair, before gripping her collar. “The common folk,”  she said.

Noble blood coursed through her blood, but the military made her understand the common man more than she had. A little rough, but good, more honest than nobility, and she could appreciate it. There was no malice in the princess’ voice, and Lucretia realized a breath she did not realize she was holding. “I’ve never heard it,” she said, yet to touch her.

“Then we both have things to learn.” Lady Elena tilted her head. “Will you teach me how to use a saber? You are a cavalry captain, are you not? My General refuses to show me anything.” A statement, the tricks of city nobility.

Lucretia shook her head. “I prefer to not step on the High General’s toes,” she answered. “Keep yourself distant from war, princess.”

“Men are impossible. He’s shown me the tricks of a dagger, but nothing more.”  She sighed, lashes bending submissively against a high cheek. “For my  _protection_ , of course. What he does not know will not kill him.”

Chuckling, “But he will kill me.”

Lady Elena shot her a  scathing  look. “He does not present himself as that. Do not mock him.  My General does not kill outside of war.” Her hand fisted her collar tightly, stretching shirt and jacket across her back, then bolstered herself onto her tiptoes, faces closer. She finally managed to draw one of Lucretia’s hands from her pockets, princess unstable on her toes  and steadied by the back. Unsurprisingly, the material was soft . Brazen city nobility. “Forgive my slip,” as if her voice gave away an y inflection.

Shrugging partially, “I have been out of customs for a while. Give me a few weeks to become accustomed once more.”  Perhaps their age gap was for the best. She had a hard time imagining Lady Elena being available for long. The coldness of the sky only made her hair shine brighter.  What fell faster: Trebian generals off their steeds, or Tenedon nobility for homestead girls? “Sabers are not much good on foot, but if you give me your time of day, I will show you what I can concerning swords.” 

With the assumption that the youngest princess could not have many duties, Lucretia took the chance. Close to the High General, for all that was worth, but while there were no words exchanged to say “I am a pacifist” she had her suspicions.  There was nothing wrong  with softness; she welcomed it.

“You have yourself a deal, Captain Lucretia. Lunch at the Caramel? Two days time.” Question to statement. Her eyes twinkled.

Pretending to know what the Caramel was, some city restaurant after her father’s time in Nucree, she nodded. “Lunch it is,” she answered. A day was enough to get herself relocated to the Ansellum home and acquire a few new outfits. She was growing tired of the uniform.

Remembering the luxuries of childhood --- Matthias vaulting off the roof of the family manor, cousins conspiring to throw another in the fire place, tutors and their hours of lessons --- she recognized the ways they hung on Lady Elena. Gentle childhood, gentle youth hidden from war, and, luck be on her side, an eighteenth summer with her. At eighteen, Lucretia had left the Fens and headed to Lt. General Sabucia’s post. Her youth had been cut short, but nobility took forever to age from youth. She’d be a child until she became Lord Aulen herself.

Shifting on Lady Elena’s part brings her back. Close, when did they get this close? The flush still lived on the princess’ skin. Something else passed across her eyes, a look seen in temple initiates about to shatter a tenement with some regard. Not the most beautiful, but certainly the most attractive. Lucretia found some asinine reason to touch her face, brushing pesky locks of hair behind her ear; no powder clung to her fingers. The vulgarities of coming and leaving youth.

“And I,” her voice was tight,  and procession of thought bumpy yet, “do nobles and royals court differently?”

“I would imagine. Two different classes.”

“I am more noble than royal,” she says. What royal would disregard that part of themselves? The most valuable piece.

Interest piqued but not in a position to refute it, cupping the princess’ cheek, she replied, “Then we can follow noble patterns.” This wasn’t  _noble_ , but she had been away from home. Who could blame her? Softness was alluring, and she simple.

Desire poked at her. Lady Elena smiled, and the feeling grew. “Thank you,” she said, leaving her with more questions than answers.

Naturally, as every story goes (she had read a few serializations found in the ruins of villages, and they were not the highest of quality), they’re interrupted. The balcony doors open; hearing the telltale salute and swords slapping against thighs, she can imagine who was present. ”Lady Elena,”  _El-e-nah_ , “will we dance, or are you fraternizing with my soldiers all night?” For finding his false daughter wrapped up with one of his soldiers, he sounded remarkably calm. “Your general leaves for eight years, and this is how you treat me.”

They untangle; Lady Elena smoothed out her jacket, but the wrinkles were present and here to stay. Lucretia turned and saluted to the High General. Grey dotted his temples. “No need for that, Lady Aulen. May I have the Princess Elena?” Lady Elena’s  smile blossomed like the tulips in the garden, rushing over to her adored general, kissing his cheek.  Once more, she look ed fine on his arm, as if she was always meant to be there.

“Of course,” she said. “Until lunch, Lady Elena.” To the princess, she bowed.

That radiant smile was directed at her; Lucretia’s heart clenched in her chest. “Until lunch.”


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the high amount of alcohol coursing through her veins, sleep avoided Lucretia. She sat up as the moon climbed, brought back to her room by a carriage, filtering out with the rest of the nobility. She only managed to catch Lady Elena’s eyes once during the night again, hooked on her general’s arm and not let out of his sight, before she herself was stolen away by Lady Nipia. She would have to discover more about that.

She passed some coin along to her carriage driver to deposit her belongings at the Ansellum residence. He accepted it, no questions, and so she sat in a room devoid of her saddlebags and chest, what little she owned presently. Veins warm from whatever concoction Lady Nipia gave her, she stripped of everything save for her undergarments and white button up. The cotton was stiff, reminding her of the old gowns she spent summers in.

Her heart panged for her father.

Moving on was not her forte.

But sentiments were for lesser women.

Resilient with a high tolerance to alcohol, Lucretia spent decent time staring at the ceiling. Every time her eyes slipped shut, she saw the familiar glare of the sun again, the sand stirred, horses whinnied incessantly. The Trebian forces clashed with the Lt. General Decius’ grounded forces in a clatter of swords and yelling. Would she ever leave the desert? But her Lt. General made the role of the Fifth clear, and so they joined the fray, spear balanced in her hand, sailing free to impale itself in-

She shook her head, dizzy with drink. The war was gone, the war was past. She needed to stop thinking about it. Lucretia had old obstacles to fight. She was back in the eye of the court, and suddenly caught in a new world of royals and their generals. Things were fine. Things were new.

In capable of staying still, she stood, pacing the length of her room. The war was over. She was returning to the life she had known, with the addition of a royal spouse.

Lucretia sul Aulen, Aulen lordling and war hero.

Sixteen year old (minus a few days) Lucretia never envisioned this life for herself.

Sleep did not come easily, nor did she want it to come. She was better off pacing for an eternity than the sun, the terror that gripped her heart. Wine would help; she tread across the hardwood floors and cracked the door open; perhaps it was a misuse of the posted guard, but she made the request for a pitcher anyway.

They did not tell her no.

Wine always made things easier.

* * *

The High General summoned her the next noon before she could find herself at the Ansellum home. She stomached her headache, dressed, had a light breakfast, and killed time until her meeting. There were few things for her to do in Nucree. She didn’t know the city, and knew few within its borders. The city wasn’t for her.

City nobility lived smaller, too. Accustomed to the various manors of the Aulen family, sprawling, multi-leveled homes with room for a family and a couple dozen villagers, she found the city suffocating. The palace reeked of human, animal, and heat; the streets drowned in the scent of rotten fish.

Nucree was disgusting. Perhaps everyone’s nose had broken.

Lucretia existed as a guest within the palace, not captive but certainly captured. Guards she didn’t know saluted her without expecting salutations back. Pages bent over backwards to try and assist her. What assistance could she need before noon? It made her skin crawl. She tried to avoid the attention—turned down empty halls, avoided the Court and the front hall of the palace—but she couldn’t escape it.

Eventually, she found the palace library. It was empty, save for a worker who didn’t acknowledge her. Perfect.

She lost herself for a while. Volume One of Tenedo history was only so appealing. It was history she knew, or was suppose to know. Her tutor made sure of that, both the general history and the Aulen history. The beginning sections of the first volume, written and composed by Gnaeus, outlined the period before the king of Tenedo came to be. Ruling, competitive landlords on the west that answered to no one, running their manors and tying peasants to the land. The east was only composed of fishermen—”Dull, uneventful men with little more than the clothes on their back and the roof over their head”—and roaming herders. Magic, a forgotten piece of Tenedo and Trebia alike, existed, but it was quiet. No one drew attention to themselves for their “unnatural, gifted powers, that could shake the towering Alkali Mountains.”

The start of the calendar is marked by Maximus Phospita establishing himself as king. The young king “turned his eager gaze eastward. He readied the army, small in its numbers of only a thousand, but rallied behind an ambitious man. First in its stop would be conquering the outlying manors that rested on the base of the Akali range. The nobles, upon reaching word, armed their-”

“Captain Lucretia.” A palace page kneeled before her, a young girl before the set of puberty. Her face was soft, and her voice shook. Orphans were cheap labor. “The general would like to see you now, if you are not too busy.” Unsettled at how easily the High General found her, she set her book aside, leaning forward. The girl squirmed. “Captain?”

“How old are you, girl?” Lucretia asked.

The page was obviously taken aback, heat in her cheeks. “Eleven, ma’am,” she answered, eyes riveted on the floor. “My name is Thea, ma’am,” she continued.

Young. They’re always young.

“...I will see the general, Thea. Return this for me.” She held the book out for the page, who took it with shaky fingers. “Where will I find him?”

Thea stood as she did; her uniform barely fit her. “His quarters are located in the west wing. I may show you the way, if you like.”

* * *

Princess Elena was as beautiful dressed down as she was dolled up. Her hair was pulled back, ringlets framing her temples. Make-up free, her face mirrored her ankle: one freckle on the expanse of white skin, dotted on her brow. “Lady Aulen,” she spoke softly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Her fingers carted through the High General’s shaggy hair. A smile stretched on her face, reserved for Lucretia, and she wanted more of them.

“Captain Lucretia,” the High General carefully corrected. “You aren’t here, my dear Elena.” The Princess made brief eye contact with her, a smile playing in her eyes. “Please, Captain, take a seat. We’ve a few items to discuss.”

Dragging her eyes away from the shears in Princess Elena’s fingers, she did as instructed. “Sorry, sir.” She sat with a straight back, legs crossed over the knee as a lady should sit. Her fingers folded over the top knee, pants the standard dull grey of Tenedo.

The High General remained impeccable as Lady Elena began cutting his hair. “I will not force formalities, Lucretia. I am no noble, and for now I am only the Lady Elena’s guardian. I saw the way you spoke to her last night. I cannot bar you from courting her, of course, but I will make it obvious now: you harm her in any form, I will make your life a living hell. Understood? You stand to disappoint both king and general, if that means anything to you.” He titled his head to the side. He had to be comfortable with Lady Elena, to allow her to bring a blade so close to him.

“I understand, sir.” The topic of conversation sent her a smile. Dazzling. The general’s words were part threat, but part permission. She heard that section well.

The High General held himself well, all the careful poise with the underlying danger she imagined. Lucretia never had the opportunity to see the High General during the war—shuffled around by her Lt. General wherever she found fit—but his reputation did precede him. “Next, Captain, is your future.” A rough topic. Home. Lady Elena. “Is it true that you are considering retirement?”

Lucretia suppressed any nervous tick. “Perhaps, sir. I have been away for nine years this summer, and my father will request me home. I am his heir, as I am sure you know, and I need to,” finally, “start those duties.”

He hummed. The blade smoothly passed behind his ear, and hair littered on the floor. Despite her best intentions, she found Princess Elena’s eyes again, lit with joy as she cared for the High General. It was not her place to know the intimate details of their relationship, but her curiosity was peaked. “I do not care what you do, Captain. However, your Lt. General is quite attached to you, and I do not see her letting you go easily.”

“I am aware. I have not had the opportunity to speak to her.” The Lt. General’s affection for her stemmed from a familiarity to her daughter. She did not mind allowing the Lt. General the small comfort, and Lucretia’s success came before the admitted affection. Softness did not bleed through until after she was promoted to Captain. “I am suppose to see her by month’s end.”

The High General lost years in front of her as his hair was sheered off. Nucree was bound to be bustling with the return of soldiers attempting to accustom themselves to civilian life. She could ask her Lt. General for how to deal with the dreams, the fervent terror that gripped her stomach at every mention of - “...Trebia is bound to ask for reparations, but the peace talks have taken the nation for all they have. Avoid southern Tenedo, as sympathizers run rampant along the border. Stay amongst your own kind, Captain, for the-”

She should have been more in tuned with the conversation, but she was saved from her own ignorance with a short knock on the door. Princess Elena sighed, brushing errant strands of hair off of his shoulders, scissors held in one hand. “I take it Father wants you,” Princess Elena sighed.

“No doubt,” he answered. The High General stood and pressed a kiss to the princess’ temple. There was a show of emotions that bled through their eyes, but Lucretia could not read them. “Dinner, my lady?”

Princess Elena nodded, smile present yet. “I would have it no other way,” she said, hand running over his shoulder in an effort to dismiss the hair. Lucretia felt as if she was intruding on something private, but she could not look away, as the princess slid the general’s coat off his shoulders, delicate hand lingering on his chest. “I will have this sent to the laundry, Kaeso.”

Lucretia knew the habits, standing from her chair and saluting to the High General. The military made her habits more recent than nobility, put at ease and waiting for him to leave. The princess teetered around the lounge, sweeping the lost hair into a pile with the side of her foot. She slid the chair back beneath the decorative desk.

Minutes clicked by with each step of her heeled foot. “He is my late sister’s husband,” Princess Elena led with. “The High General is dear to me, more than my father ever has been.” She recognized paltry court drama even yet; the princess turned to face her, cheeky grin replacing her proper smile. “Sit, Captain. I believe we were interrupted last night.”

“I am expected elsewhere, Lady Elena.” This room spoke of wealth, white marble flecked with brown, imperial gold throws draped across the back of cream couches. Nobles always had similar taste, and she almost felt she was back in the Aulen manor. Her hand settled on the back of the chair, the scar on her hand tarnishing the simple beauty of the fabric. “The Caramel, yes?”

The princess nodded, taking a step towards her. “We may wait a few days to allow you to settle in. I do not imagine you have much.”

“You are correct, princess. Shall I send word?” Lady Elena ran her hand over her shoulder, deceptively quiet, and Lucretia was unsure as to when a few steps turned into closing the gap between them. She would not question it.

The princess pressed a kiss to her cheek. Lucretia felt herself turn red; it had been the longest of times since affection that soft graced her skin. “Please do, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's shorter but there's less going on.  
> think i can finish this by time pride month ends?  
> be gay do crimes
> 
> find me on twitter @hectorpriamids

**Author's Note:**

> hit me with that gay shit


End file.
